by T C Shelley
Sam looked up. The gargoyles glared at Woermann from the roof. Wheedle mimed a karate chop. Sam shook his head.
Woermann steered Sam on to the footpath. A low lion’s growl carried down. Woermann stopped and shuddered, but his heavy hairy hand rested on Sam’s arm. ‘We’ll stay where everyone can see us.’
Sam stared across to the beach, the unsettled water throwing itself on the pebbled shore. The wind left the seashore crowd free; the only people Sam could see had wrapped themselves in their coats and jackets, hunching as if it would keep the cold away. They rushed past, not paying any attention to the man and boy standing on the footpath under a sky bleached to a bland shade of grey-green.
‘All right, boy, just play along.’ Woermann smiled sadly at the cafe window. ‘Nice little catch-up we’re having here.’
‘What do you want with me?’
Woermann frowned. ‘Not me that wants you. It’s my queen’d do anything to have you. I’m just curious what makes you so valuable? In the end, it doesn’t matter to me, as long as I get paid. You know, I’ve been selling on those shifters to raise a bit extra, but nabbing you will make me a man of means. I’m rich.’
‘Queen Maggie? Is that what she’s calling herself these days?’
‘She’s got a hundred names. I call her whatever she tells me to. She’s paying the bills.’
Sam looked up to the gargoyles. Bladder was biting the air and nodding at Sam. Then he looked at his Kavanaghs and their innocent sad faces. ‘What does Maggie want me for? What does she want the others for?’
‘She’s says you’re necessary to win the coming war.’
‘War?’ Sam remembered Thunderguts wanting to be free of The Hole, to take over the human world again. ‘Do you understand what that means? How bad it could get? Even for you.’
‘Dunno. Not my problem, I just gotta make sure you come with me, then I get paid.’
‘I’m not going with you.’
‘I think you are. I saw your face when you looked at those pups. What will happen to them if you don’t protect them, do you think?’
Woermann opened his coat and pulled out a plastic bag with a thin grey blanket inside it. Even before he opened it, Sam could smell the heavy scent of shifter dog urine pumped with the biting smell of fear. The overpowering stink of helplessness poured out and stung his nose as Woermann popped the seal. It was fresh and it was Amira’s; Sam could see in his head the story the smell told. She’d been chased in her puppy form, cornered, huddled on this piece of cloth, panicking. As someone with large hands reached for her, she peed.
‘You’ll go. That’s if you want your shifter friends to survive the night. You’ll be nice and friendly now, won’t you?’ Woermann put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pushed sharp nails through his jacket into the skin. ‘Now, just nod, because you’re coming home with me, lad. Those pups are waiting desperately for you. As is the queen. You’re worth your weight in gold.’
‘Is that what you were doing in The Lanes?’ Sam asked. ‘Setting a trap for me?’
Woermann chuckled. ‘Not you. We set the trap to locate the shifters’ safe house. Those dogs did exactly what I wanted and I caught about three different kinds of shifters in one haul. You were just a bonus; you should have seen my customer when she spotted you. You are the greatest prize of all. I smell out the shifters, she sets up the stings, gets the dust working, so to speak, but I do all the grunt work. I sniffed a few all the way to Brighton, and she shows up and says she’s noticed something special about the air here. I guess that was you. She talks about you like you’re a little prince,’ Woermann said. ‘I lost you on the first round, but I managed to catch the others at the safe house. They always pick houses at crosswinds, carries the scent away, but we just followed the dust and your little friend gave herself up by asking if you were OK. If she was worried about you, we figured out you would be worried about her. And, wham! The trap snaps. I used her scent to track down your other friends too. After you get one, it’s like fishing in a barrel. They all stick together, and Her Maj chucks one handful of dust and they come willingly.’
Sam sniffed deeper. Up close, he realised that wretched scent Woermann gave off wasn’t human. Woermann smelt like a wild animal. ‘What are you? Are you a shifter?’ Sam asked. ‘Are you catching your own kind?’
‘Not me. I am very human. I just had a little accident a few years back and it’s caused me a few changes. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘You’re a ’thrope?’
‘Oh, you are informed, aren’t you! So we know what your friends are, and we know what I am. What are you? You’re not a shifter, not a fairy? I sniffed that on you at The Lanes, but you’ve some kind of magic on you. Are you a magic ’thrope? That’s my guess. You were with those animal statues. You’re on the nose, as it were. I’m thinking you all escaped from Faeryland an’ she wants you back. You her special pet?’
Woermann tapped a gnarly-nailed finger on the side of his nostril. Sam realised he could see thick, fair hairs growing from the bridge of the big man’s nose. His eyebrows were one broad line, without even thinning at the middle. Bladder had walked down the wall towards them. ‘Oh, you brought them. If I get another lump, I’ll give ten times to your little chums, remember that.’ Woermann stood up straight and saluted Bladder, who started down the wall at him. Sam shook his head and saw the confusion on Bladder’s face. ‘Shame the dust doesn’t work on you. Got Rashmi on a string with fairy dust.’ Woermann smiled at Mrs Petersen through the window and gave her a little wave. ‘I love that stuff, although if I smell too much it does strange things to me too. But not you. Not you.’
Sam knew if he spoke it would be to tell the gargoyles to pummel the man, but Amira’s fear sat thickly in his nose. He couldn’t risk her getting hurt, so he said nothing.
Woermann chuckled. ‘Well, this has been nice; shall we go back to the cafe? Now, you’re going to agree to come home with me. You’ll be safe enough. You’re precious.’ Woermann resealed the bag, the wind stole Amira’s smell and it faded to nothing again as Woermann tucked the bag into his coat. ‘I think you’re smart enough to understand what I can do if I don’t get your agreement. Normally, I sell the dogs afterwards, gives me a little bit of cash, you got no idea what you can ask for a purebred pup, but if you don’t do as I tell you, I’ll dispose of them one by one, drown them in a hessian sack like days of yore. It happens every day. Maybe you’ll choose to stay where you are, but that’s a lot of lives on you.’
‘I’ll tell.’
Woermann chuckled again. ‘And who would believe you?’
Sam felt the colour leave his face. The wind nipped at his nose. His ears hurt.
Finally, he nodded.
‘Good lad.’ Woermann took him in a bear hug. ‘My boy. I missed you so much. It’s so good to know you remember me.’
From behind the dull glass of the cafe, Nick’s white face peered out.
CHAPTER 11
Michelle said nothing as she packed Sam’s bag. She folded clothes with slow-moving wrists and lethargic hands and put them into an old black case.
‘Will you want your posters too?’ she asked.
‘It’s just for two weeks. I’ll be back,’ Sam said. ‘Just to see whether …’ Sam didn’t know what to say; any excuse would be a lie. He couldn’t look at her when he spoke. He wanted to stay, he never wanted to leave Michelle, Richard, Nick or Beatrice. He didn’t want to be away from the house for one moment, unless he was where one of them was. He couldn’t say that.
If Daniel were here, he would put a hand on each of them and let them know it was all right; but Daniel wasn’t there, only Sam.
I’m pathetic. What good am I to them?
Sam thought of Woermann’s triumphant stink. Even without the puppy wee wrapped under his coat, the man was stale and dusty. His coat smelt of other creatures’ dread. Sam had no idea where Woermann would take him, but he was sure there’d be no nice room of his own with sweet-smelling sheets, the lingering scent
of Michelle’s perfume in the air, or Richard’s musky underarm deodorant and Nick’s even muskier underarms.
Sam stared at his posters, at the angel brooding over a gravesite, the one that most reminded him of Daniel.
‘Do you want to take your posters?’ Michelle’s voice cracked a little at the end. Did she realise she’d already asked that?
Sam shook his head. Vigorously. If he took his posters it would no longer be his room. Maybe they would turn it into an office or a storage room for their other things. It had been something like that before he’d arrived. They’d had an attic conversion so they could store all the bumf and clutter away and give Sam his own space. He would find some way to come back. He would! And he wanted his room to be here waiting for him, complete with angels and gargoyles.
‘No, I’d like them to stay.’
He put his hands on Michelle’s as they fussed at folding pairs of socks. She looked up and smiled. ‘I’m happy you found your real dad. He’s … he’s your family. We only wanted you to be happy, you know. We would never keep you where you didn’t belong.’
I belong with you, Sam could have said, but he needed to do something else too. He needed to make sure Hazel, Wilfred and Amira were safe. They were friends, and friends were a type of family. He pondered how his family continued to grow: Daniel, Bladder, Wheedle, Spigot, Hazel, Wilfred, Amira. Kavanaghs.
The three gargoyles crowded Sam’s window.
‘You can’t go,’ Bladder said. ‘We’ll wait for Daniel to get back and he can fetch your shifters.’
Sam wished it were that easy. ‘I don’t know how long he’ll be. He could be back in months, maybe years.’
‘How long did he say last time you saw him?’ Wheedle asked.
‘He didn’t. But what if I don’t go and Woermann hurts the shifters? What in the world does Maggie want them for? And what if Daniel comes back today and still can’t get through walls? I can’t rely on him.’
Wheedle thrust his nose to Sam’s. ‘You don’t need Daniel. Let us get this Woermann. We can do something about all this. You can’t go with him – if you do, you’re just delivering yourself into Maggie’s hands. I know you love your new pack …’ He trailed off and sighed. He shook his head. ‘You have to, don’t you? Pack looks after pack.’
Sam stroked Wheedle’s head.
Bladder muttered something.
‘Say again,’ Wheedle said.
‘I said, we could kill him for you, if you like,’ Bladder snarled. It made all of them jump. Bladder’s eyes darkened to onyx black. ‘I will track you both down, I will, and I will never be far behind you. Never, Sam. I will stick to you like mortar to bricks.’
Spigot shrilled.
‘We all will,’ Wheedle said.
‘Sam?’ Michelle said from the door. ‘Are you all right?’
Sam shooed the gargoyles out of the window. ‘Come in,’ he said.
Michelle put her head around the door. ‘I just wondered … you’re in here by yourself and ...’ She peered at him, then closed her eyes as if to shut out a painful thought.
‘Shall I come downstairs for a snack?’ Sam offered.
Michelle studied Sam’s face across the table. ‘If you aren’t happy there, if you want to come home … you know we would fight for you. And the service says you have a say.’
‘You just have to tell them what you want,’ Richard said.
‘You don’t look any happier about this than we are,’ Nick said.
‘Nick!’ Michelle said as Sam muffled his misery in her jumper.
Then Richard pulled him to his neck and held him as tightly as he could.
After too short a time in the hug, Sam pulled back. ‘I have to go.’
‘Even if he is your real father, you can stay with us. The court …’ Michelle started.
‘Michelle, he’s got to do what’s right for him.’ Richard spoke a little higher than usual.
Sam shook his head. For Hazel, Wilfred and Amira and the other shifters Woermann had locked away, Sam had to go. Michelle must have seen the resolve in his face. She stopped talking.
Although Nick was in Sam’s room, he stayed back, leaning against the wall, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’s angry with me, Sam thought. He was fascinated by how easy it was getting to read them.
‘Two weeks. I’ll call you as often as I can.’ Sam held up the mobile.
‘You know how to use it, right?’ Nick asked. ‘You got the charger?’
The boys laughed a little and both studied each other in the quiet room. When the knocker on the front door rapped it made them jump.
‘Mrs Petersen’s here,’ Sam said.
Sam, Richard and Michelle descended the steps with slow, heavy tread. Nick waited at the foot of the stairs, swaying and kicking at invisible footballs on the carpet.
Beatrice slept in her cot above them. Sam wished she’d been awake for him to say goodbye. She was the opposite of everything he was going to: light, sweet, miraculous.
Richard opened the door. Mrs Petersen stood on the doorstep.
Sam lugged his black case down the steps past her.
‘We’d like visitation rights, please?’ Michelle said.
‘I’m sure that will all be sorted out. Just give Sam two weeks with Edward, and we’ll revise this in two weeks according to Sam’s wishes,’ Mrs Petersen said.
‘His school?’ Michelle asked. ‘No one said anything about school.’
‘I will liaise with them for work. Edward may want to discuss his schooling with Sam too.’
Sam looked up. The gargoyles sat up on the wall of his home, encircling the blessing. He was leaving all that protection behind. Bladder picked up one forepaw, claws extended, and leaned down. Sam understood the move – the stone lion was ready to drop and attack Mrs Petersen even if the whole world saw him, but it wasn’t her fault Sam was leaving, so he shook his head. He didn’t want her hurt.
Richard threw Sam’s case into the back of the car. Sam waved at the Kavanaghs from the back window. Behind them, a little higher on the wall than before, Bladder gave a pained and silent roar, then he watched as the trio raced back to the top of the house.
The gargoyles bounded from roof to roof, leaving the Kavanagh house far behind them and making sure they could see the direction Mrs Petersen’s car headed.
‘She’ll be taking him to the services,’ Wheedle said as she turned right.
‘We can cut her off,’ Bladder said.
The car raced away. Wheedle shook his head. ‘Too fast, but if we get there, we can pick up his scent.’
Bladder peered at the streets, figuring out the best way to get across the road without being seen. ‘No one else smells like Sam, so I think we can follow pretty easily.’
Wheedle sighed. ‘We were wrong, you know. There are good humans. The Kavanaghs love him so much.’
‘More importantly, he loves them, and they make him happy,’ Bladder said. ‘An’ it’s our job to get him back to them, back to us. Come on, you lot. Let’s go. Hopefully, Mrs Petersen’s crew will make the process as slow as possible. Hey, look, there’s a bus coming.’
‘You’re kidding?’
Bladder grinned so every fang could be seen. ‘You never wanted to ride a bus before?’
Spigot hooted like an owl as they headed for the street.
Mrs Petersen drove to the city centre, towards the Children’s Services. When they arrived, she parked next to a slick black Mercedes. Woermann leaned against the driver’s side. He opened the back of Mrs Petersen’s car, grabbed Sam’s case, then threw it into the back of the Mercedes.
‘Get in, son,’ Woermann said.
‘Paperwork? We’ve got a few things you need to sign.’ Mrs Petersen smiled. ‘Mrs Spiers noticed we didn’t have an address, couldn’t you … ?’
Woermann waved his hand, a daze of pink wash coloured Mrs Petersen’s eyes. She giggled.
Sam sneezed at the fairy dust, and Mrs Petersen gazed out across the street, her eyes unab
le to focus.
Sam climbed into the passenger seat; he hadn’t forgotten the pathetic rag of blanket Woermann had shown him and the car, as clean as it looked, reeked of puppy. He smelt Hazel along with the Kokonis and a few Labradors, and Amira. The strong fearful smell of Wilfred stood out from the passenger seat. There were other strange animal scents too; so rich with confusion and sleepiness.
The car hummed along the road out of town. They passed the marina complex where Michelle shopped, zoomed by a girls’ school with its stately Victorian architecture snubbing the sea road. They went through a little town with pretty period houses (one built in Shakespeare’s time, Richard had said, although, at the time, Sam had had no idea who Shakespeare was), drove by a few modern suburbs full of white houses over which seagulls wheeled. Sam read all the signs; he hadn’t been with the Kavanaghs long enough to visit all these places. They’d said they’d take him. They sped along the part of the coast where a ferry waited to take people to another country. Michelle said when they sorted his passport he’d go on that ferry; he’d visit that country. When she told him this, Sam had got so excited he’d told Daniel, who’d laughed at the information. The angel had marvelled that Sam knew the tunnels through The Hole could lead to different places – China, Australia, Bolivia – but that Sam somehow thought they were on this one small island. Wheedle had spoken a bit of French for him.
‘Toured Notre Dame once, had to fill in for a broken chimera,’ Wheedle had told him.
Sam sighed. He missed Wheedle and Spigot and wondered if he would see them again.
Or Bladder. He wanted Bladder with him so much he imagined the hard edge of the gargoyle’s mane under his hand.
Moving beside the coastline, the grey break of water hiding other islands beyond the horizon, made Sam feel further away from the Kavanaghs than he’d ever felt. The hastening wheels, the too-smooth motion of the vehicle rushed him from them.
Woermann drove until they lost sight of the beach.
‘You know, I realise I can talk to you. Can’t I?’
